


leave the battle behind

by FunAndWhimsy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Crushes, Depression, Episode Tag, F/M, Flirting, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Curtis/Shiro, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunAndWhimsy/pseuds/FunAndWhimsy
Summary: If he doesn't think too hard, doesn't stop moving, doesn't look too far ahead, Shiro can just about keep his head above water.Missing scenes from Season 8.





	leave the battle behind

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this is the only ship I care about now. Whoops?
> 
> Prequel to [know that here is home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445464).

No one - almost no one - listens to Shiro when he says it, all too busy giving him one of those _looks_ like they know he's pining for a lion and just won't admit it, but the bridge of the Atlas is the first place he's felt like he's standing on solid ground since he woke up in the wrong body. Dying kind of calmed down the adrenaline junkie parts of him; if not that, then the time spent in the void, unable to do anything but watch, and wait, and think. Here he has the space to do that, the equipment and the people and the distance to see the entirety of the battlefield and everything in play, and there isn't actually anywhere else he wants to be. 

Mostly.

Tonight, he maybe has a few regrets about standing on the bridge alone, after his big speech about the importance of being with your loved ones. There are a thousand places he'd be welcome, a thousand families waiting to fold him in and wrap him up in affection like a warm blanket, a million people who'd be standing next to him right now if he asked, but he didn't ask. Didn't say yes when Pidge asked him for the tenth time if he wanted to come over for family dinner, didn't take the bait when Keith mentioned for the thirtieth time he'd probably just hang out with Kosmo and watch the last sunset he'll get to see for a long fucking time. Could have. Should have. Didn't.

Years ago, a lifetime ago, a _life_ ago, on a pre-launch night like this, he'd have been vibrating so hard with anticipation he'd have to go wear himself out in the gym to get any sleep. Tonight he's just anxious, sharp twist in his stomach, acrid taste in the back of his throat, jaws and shoulders too tight. Pidge and Keith don't need to worry about him tonight, they have enough to worry about. Shiro will stand here for a little while longer, take what he can from the comfort and confidence he felt leading her through battle the first time, and he'll go to the gym, and when he's worn out he'll go find where one or both of them has crashed and curl up next to them. 

Someone else is here. Footsteps in the access corridor, and humming, and Shiro turns in time to see the door open and Curtis walk in, eyes fixed on a tablet. Huh. He would've put money on Coran being the first to break the no-work rule. Shiro clears his throat, and Curtis jumps a little, fumbles his tablet but manages to catch it before it falls too far.

"Captain," he says. "I didn't think anyone would be here."

"Because no one's _supposed_ to be."

Curtis laughs. "Yeah, well, I knew I'd only get caught by someone breaking the same rule. Mutually assured destruction."

"Touche," Shiro says, leans against his console and watches Curtis settle in at the comm station. "Anything urgent?"

"Oh, no, sir. Paladin Holt gave me some suggestions for minor calibration changes, and it's easier to do that when I won't be disturbed."

"If I told you the proper term of address is 'Paladin Pidge' because I like the way it sounds, would you go with it?" 

"It's got a nice ring to it, sir."

"You can drop the sir, since we're already breaking rules."

"Anarchy," Curtis says, laughs a little. "The whole system's going to fall apart."

"If you'd like," Shiro says, because he's enjoying having company and it's bothering him because if it turns out he wasn't better off alone tonight he just frustrated Keith and Pidge and made himself suffer for no reason, "I could take care of that, so you can go be with your family."

Something flickers across Curtis' face; Shiro doesn't know him well enough to read it very clearly, but it's definitely not anything good.

"They didn't survive the first wave of the invasion," he says, looking at his terminal instead of Shiro. Well, shit.

"I'm sorry," Shiro says, and not any of the other things he always wants to say, _we should have been here_ , _it's our fault_ , _I would change everything if I could_.

"My mother was sick," Curtis says. "I never took space assignments because she needed me home, not out seeing the stars. It's...strange, to be going now, after so long. A little - guilty, I suppose, like I'm getting away with something, or I'm seeing too much silver lining and not enough cloud."

"That sounds hard," Shiro says. "If there's anything I can do..."

"Thank you, sir. Er, Captain."

"Shiro."

"Anarchy," he says again, and when he looks at Shiro his smile is actually pretty convincing. He reminds Shiro of Lance, a little, soft shock of hair and a disarming smile no matter how little he feels like smiling. 

"I'm going to get some coffee," Shiro says. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks. I'm holding on to the illusion I'll actually get some sleep when I finish."

"Good luck with that," Shiro says, and steps away from the console; just before he leaves the room, he thinks better of it, and doubles back to rest his hand on Curtis' shoulder. "You have permission to work all you need tonight, but strict orders to get what rest you can manage."

Curtis nods, and gives him another weak smile, and Shiro leaves him to it. He bypasses the cafeteria, thinks better of a cup of coffee when he's already jittery with nerves, and uses his arm to quietly ping Keith and Pidge's gauntlets to find out where they are. The Black Lion, both of them, and Shiro smiles a little at his wrist; he should have guessed. She's sitting on the sand, facing due west, and when Shiro approaches she doesn't lower her head to let him in her mouth so he shrugs and climbs up. Keith and Pidge are tangled up just inside her open mouth, as close to sleeping outside as you can get within a lion, buried under a pile of blankets with Kosmo sprawled on top. Shiro manages to slip in behind Keith without disturbing anyone, and he drifts off to sleep breathing in the smell of their sweat and sex. 

*

One of the things Shiro admires most about Pidge, which he'll never, ever tell her, is how much of a crier she is. The common flaw of the paladins is everyone's a fucking masterclass in shoving it all down deep so you never have to deal with it, but usually Pidge can cry the worst of it out before she starts trying to pretend nothing gets to her. Sometimes all he needs is to sit with her while she cries, try to live vicariously through her, and he feels a little better.

It takes Shiro a lot longer to get back on Atlas and to his room than it does the paladins; he insists on escorting Zethrid to her cell himself, holding her arms at an awkward angle by her cuffs and keeping his hand lit up just enough to remind her what he can do with it. He's not exactly been fucking thrilled to have Ezor on the ship for the last phoeb or two, can't look at her without seeing Pidge dangling in her grip, but at least she's been remorseful, even helpful.

He gets her put away, and before debriefing he ducks back out onto the toxic surface of this shitty, shitty planet, works from memory until he comes to the place Pidge and Hunk faced the reptilian bounty hunter. The log has Pidge's little symbol carved in it, because of course she'd take the fucking time to leave her calling card on a slapdash weapon like this while being slowly poisoned, and Shiro runs his fingers over it with a little smile before he goes after the body. The bounty hunter's dead, Shiro's pretty sure; he watches for signs of life, for even the faintest breathing or slightest twitch, for a few ticks and when he doesn't see anything he nods, and yanks the mask filtering the air into something breathable off the lizard's face as insurance. Can't wake up and cause any more trouble if he can't breathe, can't ever hurt her again.

The debriefing's as fast as those things ever are, which is much too slow for how anxious he is to check on Pidge and Keith but much faster than on Earth when he has to answer for all the resources he used and every choice he made instead of just keeping his commanders up to speed. It's only twenty doboshes, give or take, before he's out of his seat and on his way to the paladins' quarters, but that's about nineteen too many. Especially when he turns the corner and sees Keith leaning against Pidge's door, face all stormclouds and exhaustion.

"What - "

"I was gonna sit with her until you got here," Keith says, "but she wouldn't let me in. I think she - there _has_ to be something we could have done at Olkarion, if I'd just - "

"The Olkari were long gone, Keith. The planet was dead."

"I didn't mean we could have saved it. But she needed more time and I couldn't give it to her."

"You did what you could. You - I want to at least check in on her, but if you need me I can get Matt to come keep an eye on her."

Keith shakes his head. "I'm okay, mostly, just need to shower and sleep it off. I'll find you later?"

Shiro nods and Keith leans up to kiss him, just a quick peck but Shiro can feel all the banked energy, anxiety vibrating just under Keith's skin. He won't admit he needs to break down until he wants to, though, so Shiro doesn't push, just lets him walk away. He has to remind himself how different Keith is than he used to be, how much better at handling his feelings, and other people's. Shiro'd been pulled out of the void to face a Keith who leaned on Pidge as hard as he ever did on Shiro, who held onto her with a fierceness he'd only ever held onto Shiro with, and it had taken some getting used to until they both turned it on him. If he's worried about Pidge the same way he worries about Shiro, it'll be a little while before he can make himself deal with it.

Pidge's door isn't locked, but he knocks anyway, gives it a full dobosh or two before giving up and letting himself in. She'd lock it or tell him to stay out if she didn't want him there, give him whatever kind of warning she gave Keith to have him leaning against an unlocked door to respect her space. She's sitting on the bed in the dark, cross-legged in the center, still in just her bodysuit. There's a small oxygen tank in front of her, the mask held loosely against her face; she probably doesn't need it but she's so small and she was coughing so hard and Shiro's glad someone insisted and she actually listened. 

The only sign she knows he's in the room is when she takes the mask off and takes a few deep breaths without it to prove she's okay, and as soon as Shiro reaches the bed he takes the tank and sets it on the floor so he can sit in its place. Pidge doesn't look at him, doesn't move, while he gets settled, but when he rests his hand on her shoulder she crumples so fast Shiro worries she wasn't actually ready to come off the oxygen and she's fainted. But if she fainted she wouldn't be shaking like that, and if it were a seizure or something she wouldn't be clinging so tightly to his uniform, and it's only a tick or two before she shifts from quiet crying to full-on sobbing, wailing like her heart is breaking, like the world is ending, like there's nothing left for her.

All Shiro can do is wrap his arms around her, and murmur reassuring nonsense, and wish he could fix it. He can't, can't even try, there's not a single fucking thing he can do. He couldn't even be there for her, standing at her shoulder to keep her steady while Allura led her through whatever traumatic thing she had to bear witness to. Couldn't do what he's always done for her, couldn't do what Keith's always done for him - the dashing, heroic last-second rescue - can't keep them safe from here no matter how easy it is to call shots and warn them about approaching fighters in their blind spots. 

He pulls Pidge in a little tighter, crushes her against his chest like he can just merge her into him and protect her that way, and he doesn't scream in frustration when the door opens because she's almost asleep and he's the Captain and he has to expect interruptions. It's just - _just_ \- Keith, though, hair pulled back in a low bun, a few damp strands clinging to his face. He looks exhausted, but soft, and clean, and _okay_ , alive and mostly unharmed and the way he's looking at Pidge, or at both of them, makes Shiro's heart seize up. He looks like he could fall asleep on his feet but he stops to wiggle the blanket out from under the two sluggish bodies on the bed so he can throw it over them and then slide in. Shiro sighs at the feel of Keith pressed up close against his back, touching everywhere they possibly can, puzzle pieces slotting into place, and he eventually falls asleep listening to the rhythm of Keith and Pidge's breathing syncing up.

*

Shiro is tired, as tired as he's ever been, worn out in his head and his heart and even his body from being so tense for so long. His coalition-building mission fell apart so early, because it was always going to, crumpled in the face of one more desperate, urgent push to keep a single Galra - well, an Altean, this time - from destroying the entire universe to get what they want, and he's still pining a little for his vision of how things could have been. But he should have known. The stakes are always higher and the enemy always harder and the timeline always more immediate, and Shiro has a hard time believing now that they'll ever be done. What comes after Honerva, and after that, and after that, how many more can the universe throw at them? They'll be fighting until there's no one left to fight, nothing left to save. 

So losing an entire fucking quintant to a colossal tentacle monster is an unacceptable fucking delay. Shiro's jaw hurts, he's been grinding his teeth so hard all day _they_ hurt, shoulders tight and achy, a headache building right at the base of his skull, and all he can hope is there's something in the fridge he can shovel directly in his face because trying to find a plate right now might actually break him.

There's a thick slice of cake on the top shelf, wrapped in plastic with a label stuck on, _for Shiro_ in Keith's surprisingly neat handwriting. Fuck.

 _"I'm not going to_ make _you take care of yourself, because you're an adult and also you're too big for me to just pick you up and bring you to food like I do with Pidge." Keith tugs at his hair a little too sharp, a gentle reprimand, and kisses him on the cheek. He's so...soft, almost, lately. easier with his affection. Pidge's influence, maybe, all the softening they've needed to handle each other's sharp edges, or one too many near-death experiences, or maybe this is just who he grew up to be while Shiro wasn't there._

_"I will tell you I got Hunk to promise a special lunch today, so if you can manage to remember to eat you'll get a reward."_

_"A gold star?'_

_Keith snorts. "I'm sure we can find you one somewhere."_

Like everything Hunk does, especially since he's gotten access to Earth ingredients again, the cake is fucking amazing, olive oil and lemon and something almost savory he can't quite place. Fluffy, and moist, and good enough to push some of the tension out of him just by sitting on his tongue, to almost overtake the guilt about once again not being there when Keith wanted him. He's so tired he wants to scream, or cry, or drive his robot fist as hard as he can into something that can take it, but he can't decide which he wants to do more so he just keeps eating his cake.

"You're up late, sir."

Shiro has just enough professionalism left in him to bite back the heavy, frustrated sigh that almost comes out. 

"Shiro," he says, because he doesn't have the energy to be Sir right now; he turns and looks to see Curtis crossing the room to the coffee maker. 

"Of course," he says. "Everyone on the bridge looked ready to collapse when the night crew showed up, I didn't expect to find anyone awake."

"Why are _you_ awake?" Shiro asks, a little too blunt in his hurry to deflect so he doesn't just start pouring all his shit out. 

"The communication array was damaged, I've been sitting up watching its repair status."

"A watched pot never et cetera," Shiro says. Curtis laughs, a little chuckle almost lost in the steady pour of coffee into his mug. 

"Your wisdom is noted and appreciated," he says. "Really, I was just too anxious to sleep and that was the first thing I thought of to calm me down."

"Coffee's not going to help much with that," Shiro says, like he isn't an idiot eating cake after midnight as his second and final meal of the day. 

"I brought a stack of books and haven't even found the time to crack one open, I figure if I'm going to be awake I might as well be awake enough to entertain myself."

"Sound logic. You can take the morning off, if you end up needing it. I'm sure the engineers will be all over your station until the array's fixed, no point making you sit there just to do nothing."

"Careful," Curtis says, spooning sugar into his coffee. A lot of sugar. Like, a _lot_ of sugar, holy shit. "I'm starting to think if I just keep creeping around the ship at night and catching you alone I can get extra time off whenever I want."

"You don't want extra time off," Shiro says.

"Touche." Curtis raises his mug and tips it toward Shiro in a lazy toast. "Have a good night, si - Shiro. Enjoy your cake."

And Shiro does, genuinely, lets his brain turn off so all he thinks about as he eats is how good it is, and when he's finished the guilt has dissipated so thoroughly he's not even tempted to go find somewhere else to sleep so he doesn't have to face Keith and Pidge. 

They're still awake when Shiro finally gets to his quarters, curled up on the bed together with Pidge's laptop balanced on their legs. It's sweet they're having a movie night, something a little normal in the middle of all this, except when he gets closer he realizes they're watching old training videos and critiquing each other. There's nothing in their lives that isn't war, all the time, forever. 

As soon as he gets close they spring into action like a well-oiled machine; Pidge closes the laptop without a word and scoots away, makes space for Keith to yank Shiro down to the bed between them. She scrambles to the foot of the bed and starts pulling off his boots and socks, and Keith runs his clever fingers through Shiro's hair. Soon he's down to his briefs and almost relaxed, breathing in rhythm with Keith, leaning into his touch, sighing when Pidge curls up on his other side.

"You're not doing okay, are you?" she asks, quiet and so gentle Shiro almost cries.

"No," he says, because they know the answer but they're always so proud when he can say it himself. "I'm not."

"Do you want to talk?" Keith asks. "Or do you want to forget for a little while?"

"Forget," he says, and they share a look, and come together to take him apart with the sort of thorough precision they're best at. Shiro falls to pieces one kiss, one nibble, one stroke, one gasp at a time, and they coax him to sleep without putting him back together again.

*

There's a reason Shiro has trouble admitting when he's not doing well to Pidge and Keith, even though they're the people best equipped to handle it and most desperate to help him through. Well, a lot of reasons, but this might be the biggest. Certainly the one most likely to impact everyone else. Lance, Hunk, and Allura are out in their lions running drills with the MFE pilots and a handful of rebels, and Pidge and Keith are here on the Atlas with Shiro. 

"They're just anxiety drills," Pidge says, one of the times she pops up at his elbow with a snack. "Everyone's on edge, so they're blowing off some steam."

"And you aren't?"

"I've got different anxieties right now," Pidge says, and Shiro nearly flinches from the pang of guilt that socks him in the gut at that. There are other things Pidge should be worried about, focused on - what if she gets caught off guard out there because her head's not on straight? 

It's a stupid fucking question; it's Pidge, she always has her head on straight. Even when she almost wound up eaten by a Weblum. She ducks under his elbow and pushes into his space, gets between him and the console. He's on duty, they're on the bridge, he shouldn't be getting a fucking cuddle but can't quite bring himself to give a shit, or keep himself from shuffling closer so they're pressed together. Pidge should be doing something other than taking care of him, but she isn't, so the least Shiro can do is not waste her time.

"You still having trouble with the display?"

"A little. There's a three-tick delay when I switch between readouts, that's a little too long in the middle of a battle."

"Way too long," she says, and gets to work, nimble fingers flying across the keyboard. He leans into her a little, grateful for the contact, for her presence, as much as he wishes he were strong enough to get by without it and generous enough to let her go off and do her own things. But it's Pidge, if she wanted anything else she'd be doing it. 

"Arm," she says, and Shiro lays his Altean arm on the console without even thinking about it. This one's apparently easier to fuck around with than the Galra arm - not that Pidge ever had a problem fucking with that one - and Shiro's not sure whether to thank Allura for that or not. Pidge has modified this one in his sleep without waking him, which she couldn't ever do with the Galra one, and it's always something good but it's always weird to wake up to a part of his body functioning just a little differently. Not weird enough to make her stop, though, or for him to ask her to. She flips open his access panel, and starts fiddling while her other hand keeps doing whatever she's doing with the keyboard. It makes his head spin but he could watch her work all day.

He doesn't get all day, of course, just another ten or fifteen doboshes before she closes his access panel and whatever windows she had open.

"It should be a lot better now," she says.

"Did you get it to read my mind?"

"Pretty much," she says. "I mean, brainwave stuff isn't foolproof, so your arm is reading those but not acting until you've started typing or swiping or whatever so it can confirm what you want."

"I've really got to learn not to joke about 'impossible' technology around you."

"Why start now?" Pidge asks, and squeezes his wrist. She's all business, almost like it isn't painfully obvious to everyone on the bridge she's just up here to give their too-fragile captain a hug. Maybe it isn't, maybe everyone else just thinks it's Pidge being Pidge and Shiro being too used to her to bother with reinforcing personal space. Maybe he should ask one of them, someone he trusts, make sure he isn't being inappropriate or crossing a line or making them doubt his fitness for command. That one might be an overreaction.

"Did you need something, sir?" Curtis asks, and Shiro realizes while he's been letting himself spiral out a little he started looking in Curtis' direction. 

"Ah, no," he says. "Just thinking a predictive text setup might be useful for the comm station, you could turn messages around more quickly."

It's a good lie, especially for Shiro, especially with so little time, but it's a mistake, because Curtis' eyes light up and when he glances down Pidge is making the exact same face, and now he's going to have to let them do it and that means making sure Curtis doesn't let Pidge give him brain implants or a cybernetic arm or something. Pidge sitting for hours tinkering like she does with Shiro and getting to know Curtis is a nice thought, though, sits nice and warm in Shiro's belly in a way he's not going to examine too closely.

" _Please_ , sir," Curtis begs, and Pidge is already ducking under Shiro's arm and away from the console to get to his station. Well, there go the extremely unprofessional on-duty cuddles. Shiro sighs a little, allows himself that last tick of silliness, and turns back to his console. Pidge left a text file on the display, instructions for him, and he rolls his eyes a little but she and Keith gave up their day for him so he might as well listen.

"McClain," he says, "you have the bridge."

The text file closes nearly as soon as Shiro lifts his arm to tap the display, which is pretty fucking cool, and he steps away because he's fully capable of giving himself a mental health varga or two. Really. Pidge smiles at him when he does, one of those soft good-boy smiles he kind of lives for, and turns her attention back to Curtis and whatever scheme she's probably already come up with. He gives it a tick before he goes to find Keith, as instructed, just to watch her babble, and Curtis babble back, and he finally tears himself away before she pulls out calipers and starts measuring his brain for drapes.

*

" - worried about him," Keith is saying, when Shiro cracks the door to the bedroom; he was moving slowly, quietly, because he thought they'd be asleep, and he's grateful for it now that they haven't noticed him and he can listen. "Of course I am. My whole life is built around worrying about Shiro."

Pidge snorts, and mumbles something Shiro can't make out, probably has her face mushed into Keith's neck or buried under too many blankets. She's been more intense lately about clinging to things and people that make her feel comfy and secure; Shiro can't exactly blame her.

"Obviously I've made a few adjustments, but I've put in my fucking time. And it doesn't make a difference, anyway, because I'm not telling you not to worry about him so we don't have to have a dick-measuring contest about who understands him better. I'm just saying it doesn't feel like an _urgent_ worry."

"He can barely focus," Pidge says, "and he's definitely not sleeping enough, and we know he's not eating."

"He's a mess," Keith says. "But he's not solo piloting a lion on top of it, there's a lot more steps between him and a stupid decision made on too little sleep and and an empty stomach than if he were in Black. He's back in the Garrison chain of command now, all that fucking structure is there to keep some self-sacrificing idiot from taking a whole battleship on a suicide run. You know how intense your dad gets about Shiro, you think he isn't keeping an eye on the whole situation? This is maybe the worst I've seen him, and I fucking hate it, but I don't have to worry every time he steps on the bridge he might get himself killed."

"I've just never seen him this bad before."

"He _died_ , Pidge."

"I know that."

"I just mean...his soul, or whatever, is still adjusting to being in a body again. Of course he's not taking care of himself, it's been almost two deca-phoebs since he had to. And of course his head is a mess, Allura said herself she has no idea what's supposed to happen when you mash a couple sets of memories together into a brain that's probably not at its best after the knockout and the floating in space and the preservation pod."

"I know that, too," she says, smaller, quieter; from their first adventure together, Shiro's taken a part of his life and devoted it to building her up, but God, how he's failed her now. Failed both of them, in so many ways. "I just want to fix it."

"I know," Keith says, and then neither of them say anything, and Shiro only steps back from the door so he can give it a dobosh and walk in without making it clear he was listening, but once he starts moving it's easy, so easy, too easy to just keep going, back and back and out of the room and down to the gym so he can get on a treadmill and run until he's too tired to think.

*

"Come on," Pidge says, slips her hand into his Altean one and tugs like that'll get anything but his arm following her. "I wanna see you make a whack-a-mole machine cry."

"I don't think they have moles here," Keith says, a little distant because he's already busy scanning for possible threats.

"Doesn't matter," Pidge says. "Any self-respecting arcade will let us whack _something_."

"I don't think I'm up for the arcade," Shiro says, pulls his arm back a little until she gets the hint and stops trying to drag him. She lets the momentum guide her into him, wraps her arms around his waist and does her best to look up at him when she's too close to really see his face. "The noise, the crowds - not today."

"Okay," she says, rocks back and forth a little on her toes, excited and silly in a way he hasn't seen her for a while. "What do you want to do?"

"I want you to go to the arcade and win something shiny," he says. "I need to be on my own for a little bit."

Pidge stops moving, and if she wasn't always so careful with him, if she didn't make up for her tendency to fling herself in his direction and assume he'd catch her by being almost too quick to step back the tick she thinks he might not be okay with it anymore he'd worry he'd offended her. Pidge doesn't pout by holding still and stepping back, though, and Shiro does her the courtesy of not assuming the worst.

"Good need to, or bad need to?"

"Good," Shiro says, and it's disingenuous - he knows what she means - but it's not exactly a lie. He loves the way Pidge and Keith take care of him, each in their own extremely Pidge or Keith way and the almost smothering force of the two of them together, he lives for it, revels in it, can't breathe for how lucky he feels when they lay him out and check him over for fresh injuries or wrap up around him and talk him out of his head, but neither one of them is any fucking good at knowing their own limits. It's a dangerous thing for the three of them to have in common, more dangerous now when using all their spare energy on him could cost them so much in the field. And they deserve time off as much as anyone else, more than most, and he'll be damned if he's going to keep Pidge from relaxing like she needs to. "I'm okay."

"I trust you," she says, and smiles at him. "I won't push, okay?"

"Thanks," he says, and he's ready for it when she goes up on her toes, so good at balancing nearly en pointe after so much practice, ready to lean in and meet her for a soft kiss. If things were different, if he could be different right now, holding hands and running around a carnival and pretending for half a quintant to be normal people on a normal date would be fucking perfect. Keith, too, in this ideal reality, because he wouldn't be spiraling out with anxiety about threats real or imagined. 

But Pidge walks away, because this isn't that reality, and she doesn't look back when she goes because when she says she trusts him she means it, and he doesn't have to worry about Keith checking up on him because he saw Hunk hurrying to catch up with him and Hunk can handle Keith, keep him in check, hopefully make him relax for a while. The pressure to pretend he's happier than he is, doing better than he is, floats away into nothingness and maybe, just maybe, he can give himself a break, too.

The crowds are a little much, but nothing he can't handle if he shifts his focus a little more inward, drowns them out just enough so he can breathe. If 20-year-old Shiro, crammed in too tight at a house party where there are more people than square feet and having the time of his fucking life, could see him now... but then, 20-year-old Shiro would see a lot of things that didn't make sense, some - a lot - of them good. And who gives a shit what he thinks, anyway. Shiro walks, and he buys a weird snack he regrets, a weird drink he doesn't, and he waves or nods at the members of his crew he passes, satisfied that the morale boost is working, and he walks, and then he sees the tent.

He's expecting a show of some kind, something he can sit in the shade and use to tune out his thoughts for a little while, but as soon as he sees the setup, and the huge aliens stretching off to the side, as soon as he feels the energy coming off the small crowd, he _knows_ , and his arm starts humming in something like anticipation. It picks up on things, responds to thoughts he doesn't know he's thinking, impulses he's not sure he wants to act on (or acknowledge), and he's working on treating it like an extra sense, a tangible instinct, but it's still unnerving.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up."

"Nice to see you too, Burr," Shiro says, doesn't bother to make nice or disguise the frustration in his voice. Burr doesn't seem like he _wants_ nice from them, the way he keeps poking; he seems to enjoy feeling wronged. Whatever makes him happy. "What's this?"

"Arm wrestling contest," Burr grunts. "Not for you."

Shiro knows goading when he hears it, and he looks at Burr for a tick, tries to read his face, figure out his angle. Could be he just wants to see Shiro humiliated in defeat and doesn't know Shiro doesn't _do_ defeat, could be he thinks Shiro would make for a good show. Could be he's being sincere and Shiro actually can't get in on this. Doesn't matter; it might be the kind of impulse that would have Keith and Pidge sharing one of their _looks_ , but he _wants_ , itches with the desire to use his body, to get in front of a crowd and _win_ , and today is for doing what he wants and not worrying about worrying them.

"Why not?" Shiro asks, takes the bait.

"You're old like me," Burr says. "This is for the young and strong."

Shiro knows, he _knows_ , that's just part of whatever game he's playing, but he still has to clench his fists against the urge to prove just how strong he is. He cracks his knuckles instead, almost more satisfying for his Altean hand than his organic one, rolls his neck, and tries not to look like he took that bait as well as he did.

"Is it too late to sign up?" he asks; Burr smirks, and points, and Shiro walks away, leaves him smug and satisfied about whatever kind of victory that was for him.

Shiro loses him in it quick, the good kind of losing himself, like the pound of his feet on the treadmill, ache in his arms from lifting, the perfect not-exactly-fog of doing push-ups until he's just shy of collapsing. Next to the blissed-out buzzing of too many orgasms and no feeling left in his legs, it's one of his favorite ways to feel. The crowd stays small for a while, and Shiro can just focus on keeping his arm balanced on the table - an elbow would maybe be useful here - and the strain in his shoulder, the grit of his teeth and absolute refusal to give in.

Shiro's good, is the thing, he's powerful and smart enough to use the power _right_ and he always, always wants it more than his opponent. Maybe in another life he could have figured out how much he likes this kind of performance, on his own, ended up fighting in a ring for money and admiration, simple and happy. The crowd's heating up, now, and someone yells _Champion_ and it's like ice water in Shiro's skull; he almost loses his grip but recovers, puts his back into it and slams a forearm as thick as his own thighs onto the table. He plays to the crowd, lets himself let go of that half-tick of fear, grins big and charming and raises his arms over his head, and catches a flash of Garrison orange in the crush of people. He falters again, smile slipping a little; he doesn't want his crew seeing him like this. He doesn't even know what "this" looks like, really - it's arm wrestling, for fuck's sake, not the blood-soaked arena grounds - but he knows he gets intense and he knows his memories are starting to flash up from dangerous places. 

But it's - it's okay, he's okay, and if anything's good for morale it's probably seeing their captain let loose, have a little fun, not just being coddled like he's fragile or trying to keep it together while his paladins are in danger. They could use a win right now, all of them, so Shiro smiles a little bigger and locks eyes with - of course it's Curtis. Curtis and his magic ability to show up just when Shiro most needs a friendly, low-pressure face, clapping like he's at a golf tournament and smiling in a way that makes Shiro's stomach flutter. God, when was the last time he had a _crush_?

Shiro winks, because that's just how good he's feeling all high on adrenaline and victory and the realization that he can still feel something so simple, and Curtis laughs. By then his next opponent has taken his seat, and Shiro shakes it off so he can get back to winning. He's almost giddy with it now, endorphins flooding him to keep him going, keep the aches at bay, and it's still just fucking arm wrestling but every time he slams someone's hand on the table he feels a little more untouchable, a little more invincible. Shiro always wins, Shiro always wants it more. Come and fucking get him, Honerva.

The crowd's chanting now, _Champion, Champion_ , but when he looks into the crowd all he sees are Coran and the paladins, right in the front, right there for him like always, and Pidge has the stupidest hat he's ever seen and she's sharing an uneasy look with Keith while the rest of them cheer. Keith catches his eye, and Shiro nods, and Keith grins and fucking _howls_ and he didn't know that name could sound so good coming from anyone but Keith can make him love anything. And Pidge is right behind him, bloodthirsty battle cry because she gets as caught up in this stuff as he does, and then they join the rhythm of the chant and Shiro can do _anything_.

The warden doesn't go down easy but he goes, and the ground rushes out from under Shiro and it takes him a second to realize he's being held on Hunk and Lance's shoulders. It's ridiculous, and it's good, and he laughs and it's been so long since he felt this good and he barely registers being set down or who he's leaning on until the fog lifts. By then Pidge is talking to the warden, gesturing wildly and still wearing that outrageous hat, and Lance is either playing with or being eaten by Laika, and Coran is showing off a massive trophy to Hunk and Curtis and a few other Atlas crew members who must have been in the crowd, and Keith is supporting him because of course he is.

"You good?" Keith asks, little smirk in his voice, and he shifts away a little to make Shiro get steady on his own feet. "Kind of lost you, for a tick."

"I'm a little high," he says, and Keith laughs, good and bright and real. 

"A little," Keith agrees. "Good day?"

"Yeah," Shiro says. "Better than expected. You?"

"Fucking horrible," Keith says, and laughs again, lit up and happy like Shiro hasn't seen him in a long time. "It's a long story."

Shiro slings his arm over Keith's shoulder and leans into him again even though he's perfectly capable of standing on his own. He likes Keith holding up, likes it better when he doesn't need it because he's not half-dead. 

"Tell me about it on the way back to the ship?"

"Of course," Keith says, and wraps his arm around Shiro's waist, bears his weight and leads him through the crowd.

*

Keith is holding on to Pidge like he's drowning and she's the life raft and Shiro's not sure he's ever felt so far away from them, even in the void. He can feel it like a phantom limb, like he was there, the tight clutch of Keith's hands as he desperately tried not to lose her, Pidge's muscles cramping up from gripping so hard. Shiro wants to wrap them up in his arms the way he always does, surround them as much as he can and keep them safe, make sure they know it, but maybe right now they need it more from each other. To be torn apart like that - fuck.

For once, Pidge is the one either holding it together or too in shock to feel anything; Shiro can count the number of times he's seen Keith cry on one hand with fingers left over, and it's a punch in the gut every time. He cries quiet and still, just a little shake to his shoulders, tears streaming down his cheeks, every now and then a harsh gasp because breathing doesn't come easy when he's like this. Pidge is rubbing his back, resting her cheek on the top of his head, letting him hold her crushing-tight and holding back just as hard with her free hand. He's used to the bruises they leave on each other, fingertip imprints and bite marks and tender spots because they don't always see a difference between fucking and fighting, but he hopes they aren't leaving marks this time. No need for mementos of this; not like they'll forget it.

The part of Shiro the two of them are always so gentle with, the part of him he never listened to before Kerberos, the part of him that's been so loud since it's impossible to ignore, wants to walk away. This isn't for him, this isn't about him, he wasn't there because he hasn't been there, and why would he want to remind them of that? 

Pidge finally notices him hovering in the doorway, and even as wrapped up in his own idiot head as he is Shiro can't miss her face going a little soft, a little relieved, the harsh crease of her brow easing away. She tilts her head in invitation, and Shiro's an expert at doubting himself but he's promised he won't doubt _them_ so he finally crosses the room and eases onto the bed, curling up behind Keith as close as he can. It makes things worse for a second, maybe, a few heartbreaking honest-to-God sobs wracking him, but he settles quickly when Shiro starts running his fingers through Keith's tangled hair.

"Are you holding up okay?"

"Mostly," Pidge says. "It was - there was a lot happening, I couldn't focus on that part of it, and I knew he was okay when I let go. But he was alone after we got sucked away, and didn't know what had taken us or what could happen."

"Alone in a void," Keith says, hoarse, a little muffled in Pidge's shoulder. "No distractions."

"Fuck," Shiro says, because what else could he possibly say? If someone offered him all the time and money in the universe to do it, Shiro's not sure he could come up with a worse torture. Keith, at least, hasn't ever needed words when they only exist to fill a silence, and for once Shiro can give him exactly what he needs right now, a warm body to ground himself with, proof the people he loves are alive and okay, a kiss to the top of his head and a strong arm wrapped firmly around his waist. And maybe that's all he can give, but it's enough.

*

It's a wonder any of them make it back to the ship. Hunk tries to carry Lance, but he won't have it, even though he's leaning on Hunk so hard there's not much of a difference. Pidge hasn't stopped crying, might not ever stop crying, but at least she let Shiro ease her away from Hunk so he can guide her back, navigate her around any obstacles in the path she's crying too hard to see. Keith is holding himself back, holding himself apart, the old Keith on his worst days, arms crossed and jaw set and face carefully blank. Not fully shut down, at least; as they board the Atlas, he comes up next to Shiro and walks close enough Shiro knows he's craving contact and just far enough away Shiro knows not to touch him yet.

"You should all get some rest, " Shiro says, hands still resting on Pidge's shoulders like they're glued there. He doesn't want to let go of her, because if he's not actively keeping someone safe right now he might spiral out and lose it. He holds on to Pidge, and maybe the contact makes her feel a little better, and he feels like he's doing _something_. "I need to brief everyone."

"Let me tell Coran," Lance says, so quiet and defeated he barely sounds like himself. "He can't hear this in a briefing." 

Shit. Of course. "I'll have him meet you in my quarters, there's a meeting space - " 

"His quarters," Lance says. "More comfortable." 

"Right," Shiro says. "I'll send him. I - thank you." 

Lance shrugs, too worn out for more than a slight shift to the slump of his shoulders, and walks off down the hall. Hunk follows, and Shiro wants to remind him about the get some rest part but honestly he doesn't want Lance to be alone right now, even if it's alone with Coran. He can generally trust Hunk to take care of himself, anyway, he doesn't need the nagging Pidge or Keith or Shiro himself do. Speaking of... 

"I'll come with you," Keith says. 

"I'd rather you take Pidge to our room, you two need - " 

"Us three need," Keith says. "We'll get your back in there and then we can all go crash." 

"I think I want to be alone," Pidge says, hoarse. "Or with - I think I'm gonna go find my mom." 

She doesn't need his nagging right now, either, so Shiro bites back the temptation to ask if she's sure or order Keith to go with her, make sure she isn't alone for the walk down to the greenhouse or her parents' quarters. They'd both roll their eyes at him, both refuse, and there's no point in making them bother. He lets himself indulge, for a tick, wraps his arms tight around Pidge and bends down to kiss the top of her head, and lets her go. Keith shifts a little closer, to offset the loss of her warmth, her presence, and Shiro takes another tick to just breathe. He doesn't know how they go on after this, what it's going to even mean to be "okay", but Pidge handles this kind of thing, it's what she does. By the time she's cried it out all wrapped up in her family, she'll be the one to hold on to Shiro and Keith and keep them from drowning. 

"Let's get this over with," Keith says, and he takes Shiro's hand, and squeezes, and leads him to the briefing room. 

* 

The shack is plenty big for the three of them, since they don't mind being up in each other's space all the time, but it's nowhere near big enough for their grief. Shiro abandons his lunch half-eaten when he hears Pidge crying in the bedroom, because she cries so hard she makes herself sick and he wants to be there to rub her back. He wakes up in the middle of the night to Keith slipping out of bed, perfectly silent but there's a flash of cold air against Shiro's side when the blanket lifts, and he lies awake listening to Keith break another punching bag or talk to Krolia for hours and hours over a shaky connection that has to span the universe. He develops a shitty habit of taking walks behind the house until he's far enough away they won't be able to hear him and punching rocks with his Altean hand, over and over until his shoulder aches and he can't think anymore. 

Pidge catches him once, and he braces himself to take whatever anxious freak out she's about to have, but she just leaves him alone and goes back to the house. When Shiro eventually gets there, she's got a huge glass of ice water waiting, and Keith ready to buff the scratches out of his knuckles, and she flips open his access panel and tries to increase the sensitivity of that arm so he doesn't decide hitting things with it isn't working and switch to the much more breakable hand. He lets them take care of him, patient and still, and afterwards they curl up on the couch and hurt together for a while. 

Shiro calls Lance every day, just to make sure he hasn't - isn't going to - just to be sure, and he doesn't know Keith and Pidge are doing the same until Lance finally snaps at them to call at the same time because they're really cutting into his depression naps. Coran always finds a reason he's too busy to talk when they call him, and probably part of that's because of his overly ambitious rebuilding project but part of it's because he blames them for losing her and there's something satisfying about that. Shiro stops calling, respects his obvious wishes, and someday when Coran is ready to reach for them again maybe Shiro will be ready to handle the question of blame better than any of them are now. Hunk's determined in a way Shiro's never really seen him before, and he's always too busy to talk, too, but he's apparently organizing some massive food-based diplomacy program for the Atlas the next time it takes off so Shiro doesn't blame him. 

The gaudy yellow hat sits on Pidge's desk and stares accusingly at them all but Shiro doesn't have the heart to ask her to put it away if it's helping her. Keith snaps at her about it, a couple weeks in, and she snaps back, and they go on like that for a week or two until one day the hat's gone and they're fine. Shiro hated looking at it, he really did, but he kind of misses it, too. 

"It's just in the drawer," Pidge says, when she catches him staring again at the potted plant Keith gave her to fill the empty space. 

"What planet is that from?" Shiro asks, like she hadn't said anything; she laughs a little. It's good to hear. 

"Earth," she says. "It's a sundew, it eats bugs. Apparently he asked my mom for 'something violent.'" 

"Aww," Shiro says. "Sweet." 

"Yeah," Pidge says, and she's almost smiling, barely-there curve of her lips and something soft in her eyes, and somewhere in Shiro something shifts, settles, and for moment he can remember things won't always be like this. He'll feel Allura missing like another limb gone for the rest of his life but they're going to be okay, all of them. 

Curtis shows up at their door a month or two in to their semi-isolation, and Shiro's so surprised to see him he just stands there in the doorway, staring like an idiot until Curtis ducks his head a little. 

"Sorry if this is inappropriate," he says. "Commander Holt said it would be a nice gesture, not an overstep." 

"Yeah," Shiro says, "he was right." 

"Oh. Uh, good. I just wanted to - I brought food," he says, lifts the stack of containers in his arms a little higher. A lot of food, wow. 

"Wow," Shiro says. "Thank you." 

Curtis holds out the pile, and Shiro lets his hands brush over Curtis' when he takes it, lets himself indulge for a second in his ridiculous little crush. It's hard to tell, but he thinks Curtis blushes a little; that, or he's just still feeling awkward about being here. The big container on the bottom is still warm, even though Curtis has a car parked in the street, not a shuttle, and it's a pretty long drive from the Garrison. Impressive. 

"My mom was a big cooking-after-funerals person, when she had the energy," he says. "Not that there was a funeral, but I just - it felt like she was nagging me about it, you know?" 

"Yeah," Shiro says. "You wanna come in?" 

"Oh," Curtis says. "I have a lot to do today, I should - " 

"In town, or back at the Garrison?" 

"Uh," Curtis says, "Garrison." 

"Okay. Do you really want to drive all the way back without a break?" Shiro shouldn't push, shouldn't let himself forget he's Curtis' commanding officer just because he's so used to Voltron's nebulous power structure; there's a careful line to walk between politely insisting and accidentally commanding someone to spend his afternoon trapped in a shack entertaining a bunch of grieving space heroes. 

"If you're sure I wouldn't be imposing," he says. 

"Not at all." Shiro steps back so there's room for Curtis to come inside, and nods down the hall to where Keith and Pidge are sitting in the kitchen, waiting for him to see who was at the door before they started lunch. By the time he kicks the door shut behind them, he can hear the low murmur of conversation; he probably should have checked before he invited someone into their space but it doesn't _sound_ like they're trying to kill him for invading. Shiro smiles, a little awkward and uneasy on his face but real. For the first time in a long time, he has a good feeling about this. 


End file.
